“Only me and Jaz and Mr Somers,” called Jack. “Don’t you stir.”
“Of course I must,” she cried brightly.
“Don’t you move,” thundered Jack, and she relapsed into silence. She knew, when he had one of his hell-moods on him, it was best to leave him absolutely alone.
The men drank a little whiskey, then sat silent for some time. At last Jaz had the energy to say they must go to bed.
“Trot off, Jazzy,” said Jack. “Go to bee-by, boys.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” said Jaz, as he retired. He was sleeping the night at Wyewurk, his own home being across the harbour.
Somers still sat inert, with his unfinished glass of whiskey, though Jaz said to him pertinently:
“Aren’t you retiring, Mr Somers?”
“Yes,” he answered, but didn’t move.
The two were left in silence: only the little clock ticking away. Everything quite still.